


Better With The Lights Off

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brock Rumlow Needs a Hug, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22162621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock and Jack always have sex with the lights off. Jack finds out why.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	Better With The Lights Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> Special thanks to Kali for encouraging to get this painful drabble out of my brain and out here to cause pain to others 😅 
> 
> In all seriousness, thank you for your encouragement and I love you bunches!!

Jack questioned a lot of things Brock did — why he felt the need to tap his beers before he cracked them open, how he could possibly eat ten tacos from Taco Bell and still try to con him out of his Crunch Wrap, why it was so difficult for him to hang up wet towels instead of leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor — but he didn’t question why Brock insisted on total darkness when they had sex. 

He figured it was some sort of modesty thing. Brock might have been loud and proud about how built he was from long hours at the gym boxing but like all people he probably had his own insecurities. Jack didn’t care enough to push; just being close to Brock, being the one to kiss him and run his hands over hot naked skin made him the luckiest guy alive. 

So when the sound of glass shattering and Brock’s gasp of pain sounded, Jack didn’t hesitate a second rolling over and turning on the lamp. He scouted out the damage first. An empty water glass had been knocked off the nightstand and Brock had stepped on it. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, bleeding foot propped up on his knee, his back exposed to him for the first time ever. 

In retrospect it was odd that a man who worked so diligently on his body never took off his shirt but now Jack understood. Emotions flashed across Brock’s face — pain, fear, embarrassment, anger, apprehension… 

“Lemme get the tweezers.” Jack wanted to say more.

He wanted to ask how anyone could hurt him. Jack wanted to kiss each scar on his skin. Some of the patterns were easy to recognize, dark circular scars from decade old burns. Jack padded to the bathroom, willing himself to stay calm. Brock was still silent, which was highly unusual for him. With the first aid kit and towel in hand, Jack made quick work of gathering and moving the glass shards before he knelt down. 

His hands moved automatically, long slender fingers rubbing soothing circles on Brock’s ankle. The silence between them was thick with tension that Jack knew wasn’t right for him to break. This, the marks on Brock’s body, had been kept from him. He wasn’t meant to see them, not yet. 

Removing the glass in his foot was quick work and the poured peroxide over the wounds. Had anyone treated the burn marks scarred into Brock’s skin? Fury without direction but all consuming burned in his chest as he smoothed on the bandage. Jack got to his feet and Brock grabbed his shirt, tugging it on anxiously. 

Jack finished cleaning up the glass and the two settled back into bed. It felt like there was someone else in the room as they laid side by side in the dark. Something sinister but old. 

“My old man was a mean son of a bitch,” Brock murmured. “Probably the reason my mom ran out. I don’t blame her.”

Jack rolled over. A bit of moonlight slotted through the blinds lighting up a strip of Brock’s face. He was frowning, the eye he could see clouded in the past. Pity was the last thing Brock would want so Jack didn’t feel sorry for him. He hated his father, wished he wasn’t dead so he could do it himself — but that’s wasn’t helpful either.

He caught Brock’s hands. The smaller man paused as if preparing to pull away but instead he shifted closer. “Cigarette burns were better than when he was throwing bottles at my head though.” 

Jack thought about the scar on his hairline, the one he never thought to ask about. Without thinking he leaned in, ghosting his lips over where he knew it was. Brock drew in a breath, a bit shaky. 

“Still preferred the belt over the burns though,” Brock said, a hint of bitter humor in his voice. “He’d start drinkin’ and I’d hope he’d just take off his belt then leave me the hell alone.”

Jack shifted his face a bit, kissing Brock’s cheek. It was warm with a wet salty trail from a tear that had slipped free. Brock’s next breath was wetter and he curled into Jack. “I used to think if I was good, better, he wouldn’t hit me so much. I wasn’t the best kid… Got into trouble at school and with the kids around the park.” Brock mustered a half hearted sort of shrug but he laughed weakly and sob choked. “Probably fuckin’ deserved it.”

“You didn’t.” Jack said firmly. He had wondered about Brock’s non existent family and now he knew… “You were a kid, Brock. With a shitty alcoholic father.”

“Yeah, well, no point being a pussy about it now,” Brock’s voice was rough and Jack watched his hand come up in that slot of light, rubbing at his watery honey hued eyes. “It’s nothin’. Just ugly’s all. Didn’t want you to know.”

“You’re beautiful.” Jack said firmly. “I love every part of you. Every scar included.”

Jack was certain he saw a smile but it was hidden beneath a scowl. “Always such a sap, Rollins. Now get to bed, we got wheels up at 0600.”

“Yes sir.” 

Jack ghosted his own smile but his heart still ached for Brock. He was determined to show him how beautiful he was and one day, God willing, he would understand. Until then he would love him quietly in the dark.


End file.
